


The Back Hand of God

by suchashay



Series: The Taller They Stand, The Harder They Fall [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, And yet, Assassin!Kylo, Dishonored AU, High Overseer!Hux, M/M, here it is, his life's theme song is the 'nobody suspects a thing' line from Octodad, hux has mastered the art of deceit tbh, the dishonored AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchashay/pseuds/suchashay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren is sent to retrieve something. The instructions were unclear, and what he finds instead is not quite what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Back Hand of God

**Author's Note:**

> What is this.
> 
> Who am I.
> 
> Enjoy I guess???

Get into the High Overseer's quarters, he said. There is hidden what you must retrieve, he said. You will know when you see it, he said.

And as Kylo jumps in order to avoid yet another totally oblivious guard on his way to said quarters, he thinks this is just a bunch of bullshit. Surely, Snoke must have the time of his life draining the misery out of him at the end of every impossible mission, there's no other explanation as to why Kylo always finds himself in situations that keep getting more and more ridiculous – and dangerous - with every assignment. Why else would he be in the middle of the very Abbey he's usually supposed to run from like the plague?

The Mark glows when he teleports himself at the very last second behind a door, the tingling in his skin barely registering as he focuses on the Overseer passing mere inches from his hiding place without realizing how close to ending his life Kylo had been. He has no qualms killing, but if he could get in _and_ out of here without making any ripple, he would: the place in itself makes his skin crawl, unease roiling in his guts as he feels the echoes of the last music box's notes having played into this corridor still embed into the walls. It would take only one man to spot him without his knowledge, and he'd be done for.

Still crouching, Kylo moves on in a flutter of black robes as soon as the Overseer is out of sight, settling into a quiet run even as his legs protest against the position, the muscles around his kneecaps starting to burn when he dashes through the third hallway. He's close now, and he can't help a little smirk from forming at the corner of his lips when his Dark Vision tells him there's nothing standing between him and his goal. Stealth works surprisingly well. Maybe he should consider this kind of approach more often in the future.

Maybe.

Kylo kicks into a sprint when he reaches the last ten meters separating him from the High Overseer's quarters, then lets out a string of curses upon realizing the door is locked. Of course. Come to think of it, Kylo could have planned that better ; Hux is exactly the kind of man to lock every damn door out paranoia, even in his own building. Literally _nobody_ takes the trouble to do that anymore.

It is not even the fact that he has to pick the lock that makes him grit his teeth however, since he actually has no reason to do that, but the fact that he is forced to rely upon the Mark in order to cross a simple plank of heavy wood. Most doors standing in his way either open for him readily, or he makes them. Violently. Which is not an option right now, unless he wants to alert every single person in the vicinity.

Now he can only imagine what would have happened if he had expected the door to open on its own while still running at full speed towards it.

Kylo is a little humbled by the thought.

So it is with an irritated sigh that he makes his hand flash once again, only taking the time to swiftly scan his surroundings as soon as he gets to the other side before throwing himself into his search. Snoke had not deemed it vital to give him even the slightest hint about what to look out for, making Kylo as clueless as permitted for someone currently trapped in the enemy's lair. Somehow, he knows it was on purpose.

He might not be familiar with infiltrations that do not involve some level of brutality, but even he knows to put everything back in its place as soon as he is done pouring over it. But as time passes and he still finds nothing of interest, Kylo begins to grow restless. The Abbey is making him ill at ease, his hands are getting clammy underneath his gloves just by allowing himself to become aware of the atmosphere – something he's been trying to block out ever since he stepped through that window in order to get in. The walls are oppressing. Even the Dark Vision is not helping him, noting nothing worthy of his attention, and Kylo begins to doubt.

Either there is absolutely nothing here and Kylo has been played like a fool, or Hux is even more clever than what he's given credit for. And both possibilities spell trouble for him.

In retrospect, he had found it weird for Snoke to tell him to start looking into the man's _quarters_ , and not his office, in the first place. Now, as his breathing is starting to get slightly overwhelming inside his helmet, Kylo chooses to migrate to the bedroom – he has learnt that when someone is trying to conceal something from the world, your best bet would be the nightstand. Or under the mattress. Even as he hopes Hux is stupid enough to hide anything in such an unoriginal way, he knows he won't find anything there. It makes Kylo nervous.

His hands skim over official looking papers resting on the man's desk, ordered in neat little stacks, but he still doesn't _sense_ anything out of the ordinary. The only reason he hasn't left yet is because the brand on his hand won't stop itching under his skin, as if he were approaching one of Snoke's shrines, or a bone charm. The mere idea makes him scoff, but there is a restlessness underneath that is becoming hard to ignore, even as he forces himself to take deep breaths.

He knows part of it is an effect the Abbey has on him – walking straight into the lion's den does that to you – but there is something else Kylo cannot put the finger on, something different in those rooms that he cannot put the finger on. As much as the Abbey is stifling, smothering his senses ever so slightly, but enough to be unnerving, he can ignore it; the feeling is not the same in the High Overseer's quarters, however.

There's a humming at the back of his skull that Kylo knows, intimately. He also knows that it has no business happening _here_ , of all places, where even uttering the word 'Force' probably has you choking on your own spite for the offense.

The buzzing suddenly gets louder and much more upsetting, but Kylo has no time to dwell on it. His ears catch the sound of keys turning into the lock, and his priority suddenly becomes very clear.

__

Hux takes another turn, back ramrod straight as he forces himself to keep an even pace while his brain lists the number of places where the Music Boxes make their rounds, and at what time. He presumably looks like his usual self, making rounds while everyone else is freed from their duties. Little do they know those rounds have a purpose that even Hux is loath to admit.

Another detour, another sharp nod directed at an anonymous Overseer running a little late, and he finally arrives before his door, key already turning when he hears the first sharp notes of yet another Music Box. This one always manages to make him sweat at the temples, even though he knows he will be shielded by the soundproofing of his quarters by the time it gets close enough to make him sick. Hux hates that he has to worry about his own men in a way that shouldn't be warranted.

He is walking a fine line everyday, and knows his luck is going to run out sooner rather than later. He should be glad he's lasted that long already.

He squashes the urge to just remove his gloves and _scratch_ until it bleeds under his fingernails; instead, Hux simply steps into his rooms, and takes a deep breath. The Music Box was just rounding the corner. Deftly undoing the first two buttons of his collar, he allows himself a short moment of respite as he rests his back against the door, feeling the music's vibrations against the sealed wood without suffering from their effects. He still doesn't know how he manages through life and work when the whole environment is against him.

Fortunately for him, half of the appearances he has to make as the head of the Abbey take place elsewhere, and Hux is always careful not to bring devices that might compromise him – one of the few advantages of his rank. On the other hand there are times where he has no others choice but to watch over masses and events while keeping himself in check, even as he feels like he's being flayed open and fights the need to empty his stomach on the floor. Hux has always excelled at looking unbothered.

And if anyone notices the little beads of sweat at the base of his hairline, they're quick to blame it on the stuffy uniform.

As soon as he feels relaxed enough to go on about his duties without threatening to crush his pen between his fingers the rest of his buttons goes, letting his jacket fall open and his ribs move more freely around the mouthfuls of air. Talking about that. Quick strides take Hux to the bedroom and he doesn't waste time opening the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a pack of cigarette and immediately getting one out, planting it between his lips as he puts the rest back in their place. The man doesn't indulge often, but there are times where it feels overdue. He has earnt the right, and if Hux commits a misdemeanor, it hardly is the worst of them.

The thought is even more bitter than the smoke he lets linger on his tongue as he ignites the cigarette, circling around his desk to open the windows behind, blowing a small cloud out as soon as his side settles against the frame. He watches the now deserted training grounds bellow as he takes another drag, before letting his eyes pause onto his gloves, a dispassionate sneer adorning his lips as the mere sight of them. Hux cannot even remove the piece of clothing inside his own quarters, for fear that someone might spot the bare skin from another balcony and alert everyone. The scenario haunts him day and night.

The High Overseer himself, branded by Snoke. What a thought, the scandal it would lead to. Along with his death shortly after, surely.

Although the thought unnerves him to no end he makes a point of taking his time to finish his cigarette, dragging the seconds out of it until the butt is the only thing left between his lips. Hux stubs it against the stones before slowly closing the window, sighing with relief as he does so. The Mark is itching under his glove, and he knows it is a little unusual but the unpleasant sensation happens often enough not to warrant any immediate attention. He has never found any explanation as to what prompted those episodes – the professional part of him doesn't care, it doesn't prevent work from being done. His personal one, however, is wary.

It's with a sigh that Hux forces his brain to stop going in circles; this exact same train of thoughts pushes itself up to the front of his mind every evening, spoiling what should be deserved and pleasurable inactivity and, on good days, a certain absence of tension. He knows where it's going to end up, the routes it's going to take, and most of all how it's going to leave him slightly reeling and antsy until he goes to bed. Start over.

The smell of smoke is discreet but still present in the air when he finally sits down in his chair, letting his weight fall more gracelessly than he would have allowed himself if any one of his subordinates were in the same room, and takes his pen in hand. Oddly, it is starting to get clammy underneath the leather, but for the moment Hux elects to ignore it and he start signing his approval at the bottom of some requisition papers he tries to read as dutifully as his focus permits. Which is to say, he merely skims over them and tries to absorb key words to catch their general meaning.

He wouldn't usually let himself grow so lax towards his duties but it _has_ been a trying couple of days, and his body yearns for rest. Hux sometimes loathes the fact that he's still human, after all.

When his patience and iron-will eventually breaks, it's in a manner that would probably look casual to anyone else, but for Hux, or anyone who knows him well enough, it literally is a display which screams to the world that his limit has been reached. The black material is tugged from his fingers one by one with a little more brutality than necessary, but Hux cannot bring himself to care as he throws the gloves at the other side of the room, irritation high enough on his sparse ladder of emotions that he cannot stop the impulse his body has to huff through his nose when he propels the gloves over the desk.

The Mark feels like embers dancing on his skin now, quick successions of needle pains that are gradually turning from slightly stinging to downright searing, and Hux has half a mind to run to the bathroom in order to thrust his hand under cold water. He knows it would be useless, but he entertains the idea for a few seconds regardless.

Cradling the offending appendage against his chest in a ridiculous reflex he knows is not going to be helpful either, Hux masks a grimace of acute pain under the pretense of pure annoyance, lips pursed in a thin, sharp line as he tries to rationalize with this new turn of events. He won't admit that he's worried, but he _is_.

Hux remembers those two, unique moments where he accidentally triggered whatever witchcraft Snoke has cursed him with – he is not going to use the word 'bestowed', as it would imply the possession of a supposed gift – and recalls how the Mark had emitted an eerie sort of radiance. Something that was beautiful only in appearance, the sight exuding barely concealed hazardous power under the guise of what looked like a blessing. Hux knows better.

The first time, he had been lucky. He had the swiftness of mind to remain still as time seemed to slow around him, colors washing out of his surroundings in favor of grayish tones and hues, the back of his hand the only thing that emitted any kind of light through his glove in this suddenly monochromatic space he had stepped into. It lasted nothing more than a few seconds, but the shock had left Hux stunned and overwhelmed.

No one noticed.

However, when it happened again, Hux was undoubtedly convinced he was done for. Having a book throwing itself out of a shelf and straight into your palm is not exactly inconspicuous. The cold dread running down his back as he realized what he had just done was not only due to his unintentional use of Snoke's Mark; Hux had stayed frozen on his spot as he waited for the quiet Overseer shuffling behind him to shout out his outrage and alarm. It never came.

The man had apparently been too busy browsing the titles, his back to his superior, to detect anything that might be amiss. No need to say Hux slept with both eyes open that night.

Those were the only occurrences where his hand's reaction had been a little more extreme than the common itching. But in no way had it felt like it was trying to consume skin and bones and melt through to meet his palm.

Hux clenches his teeth. Tries to think. The pain doesn't lessen, but doesn't get worse either.

“Well, that's interesting.”

The High Overseer's breath hitches in his throat as the words reach his ears, spinning around with wild eyes in order to find the source. Spots the intruder perched atop his wardrobe like one of those gargoyles adorning the Abbey's stones, quiet yet ominous, watching and judging with their expressionless eyes. There is panic in Hux's bloodstream; this is supposed to be his private quarters, the only place where he could let go and not care about every little undisclosed secrets he keeps sheltered within his chest, his _haven -_ then outrage kicks in as he takes in the man's figure.

“Kylo Ren,” Hux hisses, the venom dripping from his tongue so sharp and malevolent he can almost taste it. The infamous helmet merely stares, cocked slightly to the side, as if unperturbed by the whole scene. Hux seethes.

“So it wasn't something, but _someone_ ,” the hooded man continues while managing to completely ignore the body of pure fury currently trying to make him spontaneously combust through the sheer force of a glare alone.

The modified voice only serves to grate on Hux's nerves and render them even more frayed than they already were. He cannot believe the most wanted person of the continent had the gall to casually break into his rooms. He cannot believe he hadn't even perceived his presence until the moment he spoke up. There's rage and shame fueling Hux as he takes a step forward, his face morphing into something that summons a shiver down Ren's spine, making him finally pay attention to the man bellow.

The threat is clear, ugly. Alluring – and Ren is glad for the metal shielding his expression.

Hux doesn't notice the assassin's reaction, doesn't care: Kylo Ren saw something he never should have settled his eyes on, and for this, Hux's mind supplies as a frenzied mantra, Kylo Ren must _go_.

It takes two seconds for Hux's right hand to reach out underneath his jacket, snap the leather strap of the holster attached to his belt, grab the pistol, and aim. It takes less for Ren to materialize right in front of the canon, seize said pistol's barrel, deviate it a few inches to the left, and let out a dry chuckle.

Hux's eyes are wide, astounded when he catches up with Ren's surreal trick; he makes the mistake of letting a short moment pass before collecting himself and moving the weapon just against the other man's helmet. Metal scraps against metal as he tries to steady his hand – the shaking wouldn't be noticeable for anyone else, but the sharp, cringe-worthy sound that echoes once, sudden in the otherwise silent room, is enough to betray his tremors.

He goes to pull the trigger, blinks, stops himself. There is no one standing where the assassin had been.

“Did you really think it would be that easy to kill me?” Ren's static voice is loud against his ear, and from that close Hux can detect the unmistakable hint of a taunt, along with obvious disdain. He grits his teeth. Forces himself not to spin on his heels and knee the man in the stomach. Hux knows his leg would only meet thin air.

Instead, he makes a point of slowly turning his head to the side, enough to be able to see the assassin from the corner of his eye and try to make him lose the attitude, lips pulled back into a feral snarl that is prompted by distrust and aggression in equal measure. Ren's warmth against his side is unsettling, and yet Hux is too proud to take a step forward and create some needed space. He is not one to back down, he will _not_ yield.

Ren very well could just pull out a blade and push it through his ribs, and Hux would not see it coming.

“Why were you lurking in my rooms?” Hux asks, careful to keep the vitriol in his tone the a strict minimum as he sees the assassin move subtly in his periphery, the shuffling of robes almost making him forget the pounding in his neck, veins jumping underneath the skin. The pistol lies useless at his side. He knows there's nothing to be done against a man who seems to be absolute, nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Hux is not afraid of Kylo Ren, nor of the disgraceful power he seems to be using without any ounce of remorse, not batting an eye as when does so. No, he's not afraid of Kylo Ren; he's afraid of what the man might do with his newfound knowledge, what box of curses he might open if he so much as decides to whisper about what Hux is afflicted by. Lets it fall into the wrong set of ears.

Of the sword of Damocles that would hang over Hux's head if he lets Ren go. If Ren manages to escape.

Hux doesn't even attempt to fool himself into thinking he can stop the man.

“I was told there was something of importance lying around,” Ren finally drawls with an odd edge to his timbre which makes Hux's eyebrow twitch in discomfort. The assassin draws in even closer, presses himself flush against his side and Hux cannot help the shaky exhale that escape him.

He wants it stop.

Aside from the obvious, there's something inherently wrong with the situation.

He cannot pinpoint exactly what it is, just that he feels his body respond to the one crowding him in a way that makes his bones ache and throat tighten. As if his whole being had been tuned to a frequency he didn't know existed, and he now feels every vibrations and waves through muscles and tendons. The resonance makes him sick.

“And I found it,” Ren then says, quiet, the meaning made tangible through the thick belief behind it.

Ren abruptly takes his hand, and Hux's first reflex is to take it back. He's not successful, and his distress rises to extraordinary proportions. The Mark sings. Ren hums, voice low and distorted but somehow sounding as if he's savoring it, appraising something the High Overseer is not privy to. His thumb caresses the ink on the back of Hux's hand.

Hux trembles lightly, closing his eyes as if it would somehow lessen the shame and _thrill_ this simple gesture offers. He wonders briefly where the helmet's latch is situated. If he could extend his arm, bring a finger up, open the heavy restriction, and gaze at the person that suddenly makes him feel too much too rapidly. Hux wants nothing more than to kill him, while also yearning for Ren's touch.

The High Overseer stays unswayed, persuaded this is a side effect to the symbol on his skin – this is witchcraft, after all. Hux, however, is not so sure. Despite the whirlwind of unwanted emotion swirling in his head, he handles himself spectacularly well if he can put aside his little lapse in control at the gentle stroke bellow his wrist.

Kylo Ren is an assassin and a man branded by the world's very own heresy, and even though Hux has been marked in a similar way, what differentiates them both is that he doesn't brandish his like a badge of honor. There's nothing to gain in boasting about something that could get you killed just a efficiently as a broken neck if words of it got out. The bounty on Ren's head is proof enough.

That is what Hux tells himself as he takes a deep intake of air, eyes hard and determination eventually starting to creep back into his spine. No matter what Kylo Ren wants from him, Hux will not give it.

“So much untapped power. You could become something even greater.”

Hux sways at the cryptic words. His fingers twitch in Ren's palm.

He realizes distantly that he hasn't been the target of any hostile act whatsoever. The pistol is still dangling at his side, heavy, prevented from falling to the floor by limp fingertips alone.

“We'll meet again,” the assassin purrs, puffs of air breaching through the helmet's filters and skimming over Hux's cheek. There's a conclusion in those words somewhere, a finalization that rings through Hux's skull as he is conscious of Ren withdrawing, of his hand being cut off of any point of contact with the other man. A loss that he cannot explain.

The motions are vague, but he knows that at some point Ren turns his back to him, exits the room, probably leaves through the principal entrance; Hux remains where he is for a long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there's SINFUL STUFF in progress for the next part of this AU, which turned into a huge thing thanks to (or because of) [Roboticake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake)
> 
> Kylo's not done with Hux, for better or for worse ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> (as always if u wanna give me an ass-kicking u can find me at [Huxlicious](http://huxlicious.tumblr.com/))


End file.
